


Hate is Just Love Disguised by Fear

by BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction



Category: Newcastle Drag Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction/pseuds/BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction
Summary: Hate. Hate. Hate.No.Love.
Relationships: PlastiQ/Gladys
Kudos: 3





	Hate is Just Love Disguised by Fear

While most of the nation slept soundly, warm in their beds on a Sunday night, PlastiQ took a sip of her double vodka and diet coke, and smiled, safe in the knowledge that she would never be _that_ boring. She would _never_ be home on a Sunday night, awaiting the Monday morning alarm to take her to her 9 to 5 call centre job. No, it would take an international pandemic for PlastiQ to get to that point. And what were the chances of _that_ happening?

It hadn’t been a quiet night by any means. It was the weekend after payday and most of the scene had taken full advantage of the first warm night in months, and chosen to make their way out to the clubs. Pink Room was popping. And PlastiQ was pleasantly buzzed on gifted drinks and nicotine.

Life was good.

Somewhere in the corner of the club, a young man wearing a loud shirt and a matching pair of shorts, climbed on top of the table.

“Oi”, PlastiQ shouted into the mic, voice cutting into the music, “Get off my furniture, you little gay Jackson Pollock painting.”

The young man sheepishly climbed down and PlastiQ sneered at him. As soon as he turned away, she smirked and snickered to herself. The big hair really did wonders for making the twinks terrified. It was a power play that PlastiQ loved.

A slight commotion from the entrance caught her attention, and PlastiQ looked over. Half expecting to see a half-cut Mutha stumble through the door, she was horrified to see her arch enemy strut in, pushing the other patrons to the side.

Grey hair that resembled everyone’s grandmother, a stoned charity shop dress, and make up that haunted PlastiQ’s dreams, she stood there, hands on her hips, as large as life.

Gladys.

Gladys Duffy.

87 years old, and wrinkly as fuck.

“Oh, hello there, lovey.” Gladys called, waving at PlastiQ.

She couldn’t help the snarl that caught at her lips at the sight of the old woman. PlastiQ couldn’t _stand_ her.

“Gladys.” She said by way of greeting, as the woman approached.

Gladys leaned on the door to the DJ box, and PlastiQ took a step back, suddenly wishing she’d worn something on her feet other than sock trainers.

“You’re an inspiration.” Gladys said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you don’t have to apologise. It’s not your fault you’re blind. You’re an inspiration, coming back to work so soon after losing your sight.” Gladys smiled.

“What?” PlastiQ said. “I’m not blind.”

“You’re not?”

“No. You fucking well know I’m not.” PlastiQ huffed.

“Well, excuse me.” Gladys said, putting a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “I just assumed, given what you’re wearing. I thought ‘there’s no way PlastiQ would have left the house if she _could see_ what she looked like’.” Gladys chuckled as PlastiQ seethed.

“I fucking hate you.”

“Oh, lovey,” Gladys grinned, leaning closer, “the feeling is quite mutual.” And with that, Gladys winked once, and turned on her heel, disappearing into the crowds of the club, her smell lingering like a…well, like a bad smell.

PlastiQ took another drink.

“God,” she said, to herself, but aloud, because this is fanfiction, “I really do _hate_ her.”

Out of seemingly nowhere, Baron popped his head over the door. “You know,” he said to PlastiQ, “hate is just love disguised by fear.”

“What does that even mean?”

Baron shrugged. “Read that on the back of the toilet door in Rusty’s.” He smiled. “Probably true, though.”

……

By the time PlastiQ left Pink Room at the end of her shift, the place had cleared out and the alley outside was barren of people.

Her heels clicked on the cobbled stone as PlastiQ pulled her bag over her shoulder and set out in search of a taxi. It was still warm, despite the early morning hour, and she had left her jacket in her designer tote, in lieu of showing the world her bare arms. That St Moritz was worth the £3.99 after all.

“Weet woo!”

PlastiQ whipped around at the strange noise. The alley seemed empty. She frowned, looking closely at the shadows, but turned away upon seeing nothing. She took another step forward.

“Weet woo!”

She stopped, frozen, and turned slowly.

“Who’s there?” PlastiQ asked. “Come on, stop playing games.”

“Weet woo!”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” PlastiQ asked the empty alley.

From behind the bins: “I can’t whistle.”

“What?”

Grey hair and a charity shop dress emerged from behind a dumpster. Gladys shrugged. “I can’t whistle.”

PlastiQ blinked.

“Weet woo, is all I’ve got.” Gladys smiled and looked at her feet. Her cheeks were pink in the early morning glow.

“Are…” PlastiQ took a step closer, “are you…?”

“Blushing?” Gladys asked, looking up. “Yes.”

“Actually, I was going to say ‘fucking crazy’.”

Gladys tucked a short piece of grey hair behind her ear. “Crazy in love.”

“What the fuck is happening?”

“PlastiQ, I have to tell you something.” Gladys said, stepping closer. “And it’s something I should have told you years ago.”

“I really don’t know what is going on.”

“My heart,” Gladys said, holding out both hands, “it yearns for one thing, and one thing only.”

PlastiQ cocked an eyebrow. “Erm, a low sodium, high fibre diet?”

“You.”

“What?”

Gladys took PlastiQ’s hands, pulling them to her chest. “You heard me, mi amor.”

“Okay, calm down, Choriza.”

“PlastiQ, I can deny it no longer.” Gladys declared. “I am in love with you. I cannot control it. I cannot deny it.”

“I wish you would.”

“And today is the day I confess my feelings.” She kissed PlastiQ’s hands, leaving a ring of spit were her lips touched. “My love, be with me forever. Love me until the sun explodes.”

PlastiQ leaned away as Gladys leaned forward. She tried to step out of her embrace. “Remember that time I booped the lamp too hard and it broke and you told me I was Hitler? Let’s go back to that.”

Gladys shook her head. “I don’t care. My love for you outweighs any lamp you may have booped.”

“But, I hate you.” PlastiQ said quietly. “Like so fucking much.”

“Hate,” Gladys said, touching PlastiQ’s lower lip, “is just love disguised by fear.”

“Did you write that on a toilet door in Rusty’s?”

“Maybe.”

“Right.” PlastiQ sighed. “Listen Gladys, I’m very flattered. But the thing is. I really do hate you.”

“But I love you.”

“Of course you do. How could you not? I’m me.”

“PlastiQ,” Gladys said, holding her close, “come to bed with me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yes, I’d love that.”

PlastiQ sighed, and rolled her eyes. “Can we get a pizza after?”

“Of course, my love.”

“Yeah, okay then.”

And as the story goes, Gladys and PlastiQ walked into the sun rise, passing the morning commuters, hand in hand, and stopping in every alley they passed along the way, to give each other head. It was, and will always be, the romance of the century... if you’ve never ever experienced any form of romance before in any way.

The End.


End file.
